


Post-War AU!

by RoyalFunky



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Serious Historical Innaccuracies, Serious Medical Innaccuracies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-15 04:53:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8043271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoyalFunky/pseuds/RoyalFunky
Summary: Harry fought in the Second World War and came back with several issues. Louis just wants to help.





	Post-War AU!

Harry woke up gasping, sat bolt upright in bed. His back was covered in a cold sweat that was making his pyjama top stick to him. Louis blinked his eyes open next to him.  
"Sweetheart?" He murmured quietly, looking at Harry the way he would regard a child that had just had a nightmare. Of course, that's exactly what was wrong with Harry. He was having a nightmare. The doctors said he suffered from post traumatic stress disorder. Louis lit the lamp on his bedside cabinet. Except it wasn't just a nightmare. Harry wasn't in bed. He was there, in the belly of the building, fixing a plane. His bayonet was carving up a German soldier like meat in the darkness of the basement. He'd told Louis once, and Louis thought it sounded truly horrific. Harry had hidden it for years, not wanting anyone to think he was weak. Instead, he said he'd been discharged for his bad leg, and wasn't fit to serve. Only Louis and his mother knew what was wrong.

Louis put a comforting arm around his husband. He knew a comforting arm wouldn't do much, but it might bring Harry out of his nightmare, and back to bed. Harry nodded, tears streaming down his face. Harry turned to face him, with those harrowed, sad eyes, and Louis knew he had to see someone. Harry lay back on the bed, and turned to him.  
"Lou..." he choked out between sobs. Louis gave him a comforting smile.  
"Tea? Or even hot milk?" he asked. Harry nodded weakly.  
"Milk, if you would. Oh, and last night's pyjamas too. They're washed, I can't lay in these any longer. I'm all sticky. And not in the good way." Harry smiled weakly. Louis smiled.   
"I want you to see a doctor, sweetheart. This isn't good for you." Louis told him. Harry shook his head.   
"I'd be seen as weak, Lou. I-I have to deal with this alone..." he said. Louis shook his head.   
"You don't, darling, you don't. There are people who can help. Who are trained to help. And no one would judge. No one would even have to know." He said softly. Harry sighed, and nodded.   
"I'm not saying yes, Lou. I'm saying I'll think about it. Okay?" he asked. Louis nodded, and kissed his curls.   
"How about that milk then, love?" Louis asked. Harry nodded. 

Harry looked at Louis, as they stood outside Harley Street. He raised an eyebrow.   
"Well, when you said a good doctor, Lou..." He said. "I didn't think you meant the best." Louis nodded. He took Harry's hand in his and led him into the building, glaring at the snooty posh people who glared at them. All over sexuality. They made their way to the reception desk and Louis smiled.   
"Hello, we're booked in for an appointment with Doctor Montgomery." Louis told her. "Under the name Styles." She nodded.   
"Take a seat." She said crisply, looking at them disapprovingly. Louis huffed.  
"Look, he's here for treatment, not to be judged." Louis said, seemingly to the whole group. They sat down, and they talked between them 

"Do you want me to go in with you?" He asked. Harry nodded.   
"Maybe just for this first appointment?" he asked. Louis nodded in return.   
"Of course I will." 

To their left, a heavy wooden door opened.   
"Harold Styles?" Dr Montgomery called. Louis and Harry stood up, hand in hand, as always. They walked into the room, and the door shut behind them. Louis smiled, and they sat down in the comfortable seats. Louis smiled.   
"Hello, Mr and Mr? Mr and Mr Styles?" He smiled. "Harry. Your husband has told me the basics. The nightmares and the relapses and such. Is there anything else you would like me to know? Why don't you start off by telling me how you two got together." Harry and Louis looked at each other.   
"You're... you're not disgusted?" Harry and Louis asked him, a look of genuine surprise on their faces. The doctor chuckled.   
"Good heavens, no. Who do you think I am? I'm here to treat, not to judge. Now, what can I do for you?" he asked. Louis smiled.  
"Well then, doctor, if you'd allow me to begin. Me and Harry met in a hospital, ironically, when were were just small. I'd had my tonsils out, and Harry was going to have his appendix out the next day. As you can imagine, he had a considerable amount of tummy pain, since a swollen appendix does that to you. The nurses had all gone away to the station for the night, and since me and Harry were in our own little room, as we were too poorly to be out with the other boys, I went over to him. The nurse had given me a hot water bottle because my toes were cold, and I knew all that Harry wanted was something warm on his tummy. So I bundled it up in one of my sheets, and I skipped across the room. Of course, Harry gasped at me. Harry was a very strict follower of the 'bath, pan, milk and bed' routine back then, and I had to shush him to stop him calling me out on being out of my bed. I gave him my hot water bottle and went back to bed, and curled up. I smiled at him when he came back the next day, all woozy and sore. Well, I accidentally caught a UTI, and we left on the same day, and we found that we lived close, and we became the best of friends. It became something more when we were around fifteen, and I think Harry joined up because he thought it would iron his creases, if you catch my drift." Louis looked across at his husband, who gave him a grin. That was what he recognised from his childhood. A big toothy grin. The doctor chuckled at them. Louis looked across at Harry, as the doctor did so too.   
"You realise these sessions will be painful, will evoke memories so horrible that all you want to do when you get home is cuddle up under the eiderdown with your newspaper or a good book, and your husband, of course. But eventually, they will help. They will help. And you will get better. You will never forget. But you will be able to sort your memories into two categories, and eventually view the painful ones with an air of confidence. But I suggest you try what you used to do when you were small. A bath, onto the loo, warm milk, perhaps with some vanilla, and into bed, to sleep." Louis smiled. He knew that Harry, once again, had the hope he deserved so much.   
"Well then, doctor. I think we'd best be getting back. In this weather, the underground will be packed full of people who want to get out of the cold. Not that it's any warmer down there." Louis smiled, and took Harry's hand. "Come on then, sweetheart." They walked out of the room, and seeing Harry's glowing smile, the other people couldn't help but smile too. Another of the good doctor's patients had been given hope. 

Louis and Harry arrived back at their modest home in the west end. The amount of money that Louis had allowed them to stay there without being driven out for being gay. No one questioned his movements, and he was deemed safe, so Harry, being a housewife, conversed openly in the street with the other housewives. It was well known that a treat that Louis often gave Harry a spending spree in Harrods. Clothes, shoes, food, soft furnishings. It made Harry happy, and that's what he liked. They arrived home, and Louis patted his husband on the lower back. "Go put the bath on, I'll make dinner for once, and then we'll go and eat, and have it together." He said, giving him a push towards the stairs. Louis went into the kitchen whilst Harry ran the bath, watching meticulously so that it was the right height, and adding scents and oils for their skin, as well as lighting a few candles. Louis was making their supper, and boiling the kettle at the same time. He filled some hot water bottles with boiling water, before setting them in the bed, under the sheets to warm them up. Louis found towels and nightclothes and set them on the stands in the bathroom, before going downstairs to finish off dinner, and serving it.   
"Harry!" He called up the stairs. "Harry, dinner's ready!" Harry himself came clumping down the stairs and sat at the table.   
"Smells good, Lou." he said, digging in. "You know, when you invited me back here to be your housewife, I thought it would involve lots of work, making meals and cleaning and such. Instead, we have maids and a cook..." he said. "Although Cynthia down the road is teaching me the basics. Soon, you won't need a maid. You'll have me." he smiled. "Although nothing beats my husband's bangers and mash." he smiled."But you're tired, sweetheart. You wake up with me most nights, and you work almost every day of the week. I want to be a better housewife, so you don't have to worry about cooking and cleaning and tidying." He said. "It's helping me too. Takes my mind off it." He said. Louis nodded.   
"Well, if it's helping you, sweetheart. Don't aggravate your bad knee though. That was part and parcel of your discharge." They continued their meal in a companionable silence, before Louis cleared their plates away. He washed up before bringing their pudding to the table, a jam roly poly that had apparently been dropped off by Mrs. Next door. They continued to eat in quiet, murmuring a discussion about the shopping list. Louis made one while eating, and when they finished, Harry washed up, Louis perched on one countertop, looking at his husband. He regarded him carefully. Studied him. Harry, apart from his knee, was a perfectly healthy young man. At twenty five, he had the physique of a Michelangelo statue and was hung like a stallion. Louis smiled, and considered that he wasn't too bad himself. But, he wondered, how could someone be so physically healthy, yet so mentally broken? He hated that Harry was like this. He took one of his husband's hands, and led him up the stairs, linking their fingers and taking him upstairs. He took him into the steamy warm bathroom, and undressed him gently. His fingers undid each of Harry's buttons on his shirt, before slipping it off, and throwing it in the dirty washing basket. He undid his flies next, and pulled Harry's trousers down. When Harry was stood in his baggy white y-fronts and undershirt, looking like he was going for his medical in the Army, he raised his fingers to the top button of Louis' shirt. He undid all the buttons of it, and put it in the dirty washing basket.   
"No undershirt, Lou? Tut tut. The matron'd be having a fit." Harry said, raising an eyebrow. Louis giggled. He'd been sent to public school, boarding school, and the matron hated to see any of the older boys go out without his undershirt. She'd make them stand in the middle of the room and take their cod liver oil as a liquid like the kiddies, and Louis hated it. Tasted like fish guts. She said it served Louis right when he couldn't get out of bed for the flu. She did nurse him properly though, with a poultice on his chest in the night and a warm bed in the day. Harry continued undressing him, his hands falling on Louis's flies. When they were undone and in the washbasket, Louis smiled, and they both pushed their underwear down, and Harry pulled his undershirt up and over his head. He climbed into the bath, before opening his arms for Louis to climb onto his lap, and curl up delicately.   
"Never thought you'd want me once I got back. An army lad like me, a housewife? All banged up and crippled like an old man. I walked with a cane when you first met me." He said. Louis traced the scar on Harry's knee with his pinkie. Louis kissed his cheek, and they got washed, and settled in the lukewarm water. Louis cuddled him before kissing his forehead.   
"Now, come on. I'm sure you need the toilet, unless you've been weeing in the bath. And that's disgusting." He said. Louis dragged Harry out, before sitting him on the lav. Harry looked up at him innocently.   
"I used to wee in the shower when I was in the army. Saved going out to the toilet block when you were clean." he said. Louis frowned.   
"But that was the bath. And I was in it! Please tell me you didn't." he said. Harry shook his head.  
"I didn't. I was only messing about." He said. Louis gave him a stern look.   
"Go then." he said. Harry looked at him suspiciously.   
"I can't. You're giving me stage fright." he told him. Louis sighed, and went onto the landing. Harry sighed, and went, before calling Louis into the bathroom.   
"Right then, mister. Into your pyjamas." Louis said, holding a clean pair of undershorts out to him, followed by his pyjama bottoms and top. Louis pulled his own on, and followed him into their bedroom. They got into bed, Louis fetching milky tea, and sat down to drink it, before going straight to sleep. Harry, strangely, didn't have a nightmare that night, and it had been a bad week. He'd had one almost every night. 

The next week, Harry arrived at the doctor's office alone. He'd said it would be better, and he might be able to get a word in edgeways this time. He sat nervously in the chair in front of the doctor. While in there, the doctor took him back some seven years to him being an eighteen year old Private, and helped him relive his experience in a way that helped him to sort his thoughts out. Those people had been attacking him with rifles. He was well within his right to shoot at them. None of this was his fault. The doctor seemed to emphasise this at every session.

And soon? He was on his way to recovery. He hated the nightmares that he still had, but they were manageable, and if he played it up to get a little more affection and occasionally a round in the sack off of Louis, who could blame him? He'd been through hell, but now he was getting better. 

Harry achieved his dreams of being the 'perfect housewife', something that the women in the neighbourhood recognised, and to this day, Mrs Elm at twenty four was still badgering after Harry's custard recipe. No one could make it quite like Harry, and no one ever would. 

Still. There was no one quite like Harry.


End file.
